Page 47 of Dance of Ruin

That would be mystery number three: why the thought of watching it makes me crave violence and destruction.

My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket, pulling me from my thoughts.

It’s The Stag.

“Sorry about earlier,” he growls.

I say nothing for a few seconds.

“I understand it’s not part of what we do,” I finally mutter back. “Doesn’t mean I have tolikeit.”

He exhales slowly. “It’s what we agreed on when we started this whole fucking thing. You know that. The point was always to be a corrective force, not acollectiveone. We’re not an army, Nico. Not the fucking UN.”

I roll my neck, pressing my fingers into my shoulders. “I know.”

He clears his throat. “That said, I believe this Obsidian Syndicate is something the Court needs to have on its radar.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again.

“I know someone in the UK who might know something about them. The Syndicate, I mean. I can reach out and connect you…?"

I exhale. “If you could, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll set something up and let you know.”

He hangs up without a goodbye or anything like that.

The Stag is like that. And by “that” I mean “weird, creepy, and poster boy for antisocial tendencies”.

Thank fuck we’re friends.

I slip the phone into my jacket. When I look back, Naomi’s walking slowly from her bedroom into the bathroom, turning on the light and disappearing for a second.

Then she steps back out, naked now, and walks to her bed.

Steam starts to drift from the bathroom—a hot shower or bath she’s started to run, I’m guessing.

I watch her tie her hair up in a messy topknot before she turns to the bathroom. Then she pauses and swivels instead to the full-length mirror, her bare ass to me, the full splendor of her nude dancer’s body reflected in the mirror.

Her lip catches in her teethin that way, and my dick thickens and swells. I watch her hand wander down her body until her fingers run over her pussy.

I unzip my jeans, pulling out my swollen dick and wrapping a hand around it in the darkness. I stroke slowly, gliding up and down then fat, veined shaft, watching Naomi’s eyes flutter half-shut. Her hips roll, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she slowly strokes her clit with two fingers.

Now, what are you thinking about, little ballerina.

Or WHO…

It’d better be fucking me, and what happened this morning.

It doesn’t last long.

Neither do I.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been walking around with blue balls all day. Whatever it is, when Naomi slams a palm against the mirror to steady herself, her legs shaking and bowing as her fingers plunge into her pussy, I follow her over that edge.

My cock pulses and surges in my hand, hot ropes of white cum spurting from the head and splattering onto the rooftop.

Naomi shakes herself from what she just did. I watch with gleeful satisfaction as her face turns a dark shade of magenta, then she quickly darts into the bathroom.

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